Left Unsaid
by the lola
Summary: "It's the sort of feeling that can lift you to the top of the world, and crush you underneath the ground. There's nothing logical about love, there's too many questions with no answers, and that is what she hates the most." Hermione has written a letter, and she's not sure if it will ever reach him.


**Word Count:** 994

**Challenge/Competition: **Fanfiction Tournaments Competition

**Prompts: **None!

**Warnings:** None.

**Disclaimer:** I don't claim to own Harry Potter, it's all JKR's.

**Note: **Oh my gosh guys, this is the first thing I've written without a prompt in sooooo long! I feel really accomplished for some reason, hahaha. I haven't written Dramione in such a long time, mainly because I have such a hard time writing something I feel is believable for them. I know there is gaps in the story, but I don't want to give you guys everything - I want you to imagine things as you would like them to be!

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Dragging her feet along the uneven concrete, she decides to just let herself embrace the day; the darkness, the rain, the cold. The rain beats down on her mercilessly, teasing her hair into its usual unruliness, sticking her clothes to her frame, turning the letter in her hand into a dripping mess.

In the busy crowds, she is so little; so unimportant. It's just another day; another day where meaningless events slip through time, that holds no promise and no hope, where nothing really changes. Not a person has looked in her direction – not one single smile has been directed towards her.

So much is going on today – births, deaths, marriages, key moments in a person's life. The world just keeps spinning, and she's trying to keep up but everything seems so _slow_.

Thinking back through the events of the day that brought her to where she is now, it all again feels so meaningless. The reason she took this walk instead of drove, was to avoid. Avoid him, avoid herself, avoid the truth… avoid posting this letter. Well it seems as if fate has stepped in anyway – the letter is soaking, she can't restore it. Maybe deep down, she knows it was never going to get there.

She spots a couple having a picture taken out of the corner of her eyes, and can't help but wonder how many meaningless faces will find their ways into the back of that photo, yet never even be noticed. It's something she makes a habit of noticing: she has a photo, and she notices the faces in the background… she wonders, she cares, and she wants to know. Why does that person look so sad? What did they lose? What were they thinking about? Or why do they look excited? What's gone right for them?

Of course, they are just pointless questions without answers, but still. She cares. It's more than most can say. And, her curiosity is how things started with _him –_ the centre of all her problems, the recipient of this letter, the only true love she's ever had.

But love is dangerous and reckless and stupid, and she sees it, feels it and lives it every day – it _burns_. It's the sort of feeling that can lift you to the top of the world, and crush you underneath the ground. There's nothing logical about love, there's too many questions with no answers, and that is what she hates the most.

By this point, she's so lost in her thoughts that she can barely feel the cold seeping through her bones. It's one of her things – getting lost in thought, she does it so often that it's hard for her to focus at all at times.

Maybe she'll just post the bloody letter, let it get to him wet and then let him decide whether to charm it dry. But what would that achieve? Her eyes scan her surroundings briefly, and she's sure the post box isn't far off – she could have just done this by owl, she knows, but it doesn't give her the stalling she requires.

Her gaze switches back to the concrete under her feet, and she continues to drag them along, just as she drags herself through each day. As the ground becomes even more uneven than before, she trips before she can register, dropping her bag and the dripping letter from her freezing hand.

For a fraction of a second, she contemplates leaving the letter on the ground and running all the way home – honestly, she does. She's so scared. But as she leans down to pick it up, she finds herself knocking into someone.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" She says, bringing herself back up to standing and finding herself breathless at the eyes that she meets – those grey eyes that pierce her soul, that enrapture and ensnare her, and she wants to look away, but she hasn't seen those eyes in so long and she's been reeled into them in mere seconds.

The man looks to the letter in his hands, with the rain-smudged swirly writing reading 'Draco', before looking back up to her. "I suppose this is for me?"

"Well, who else would it be for?" She says in the strongest voice she can muster, before nodding politely and walking away.

Draco is left to the dripping letter, and for the tiniest amount of time he considers not opening it. He means, what is in there that could possibly make things better for them? Stepping under shelter, he pulls out his wand and casts a drying charm over the letter, making it just about readable.

_Draco, _

_There's a lot that I've left unsaid, but let it be said here:_

_I love you. I do. I'm in love with you._

_There, I've said it. I'm irrevocably and hopelessly in love with you. _

_And this letter will probably never reach you, but I need to tell this to myself, truly. I can't let you in – I can't trust anyone after Ron, let alone you, not with the rumours and the lying, and the confusion, and everything… there's just too much at stake, okay?_

_Apparently people make sacrifices for love, so maybe this is one of them. We're a classic example of wrong place, wrong time, wrong world. Maybe in another life things would have worked. Maybe they still can… No. Too much has happened, too many harsh words exchanged in the heat of the moment, too much moving on has been done. _

_I can't. I can't do it._

_I'm sorry. _

_Yours, _

_Hermione. _

Hot tears burn the back of his eyes, but he knows no tears will come – he is completely and utterly numb. Love seems to make him feel as high as the sky, and crush him inside the earth. It's burning passion, it's harrowing pain. He throws the letter into a puddle, refusing to give in – people get one love and one love only, and this is theirs.

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**A/N- **Oh and also, it's my birthday today! 16! Yay! Reviews as birthday presents, maybe? ;) haha, all feedback is loved and appreciated, so please leave your thoughts and favourite. Lots of love!


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